To Brighten
by thegoldhat
Summary: Gabriella Montez, dubious about love and the existence of ghosts, is completely unprepared when she meets a caring basketball captain and a tempermental, translucent diva--whom only she can see. GxS friendship, TxG.
1. Let me take you back

**Chapter 1: Let me take you back**

It's a dark and stormy night.

That's why the power has gone out, and I'm stuck doing homework with only the help of a flashlight.

I grip it loosely in my left hand while I write with the other, filling the paper with various numbers and mathematical symbols.

I end up with an solution that doesn't quite make sense with the word problem I'm working with. How does a company maximize profit selling canned dog food at a negative price?

Sighing, I quickly scan over my work again and realise I've mixed up a whole bunch of numbers in this dim light.

Thunder booms again. I hear my hamster, named Boxer, fall off his wheel in fright. But as dedicated as ever, he climbs back on again and resumes his running. Now if only I could hook him up to a generator or something …

I drop my pencil on my open textbook and get up. Peering out my bedroom window, I see fat drops of water splattering against the grass and faint outlines of trees swaying violently.

Mollie must be shrieking her head off by now. She's a towheaded five-year old who lives next door. I baby-sit her sometimes for extra money, seeing as I can't seem to find a part-time job right now, so I know how much she loathes storms.

I do enjoy her company very much, though.

Little girls, they accept you no matter what as long as you come bearing chocolate or Barbie dolls.

Unlike teenage girls.

Most of them, anyway. I have a couple of acquaintances throughout my school, East High. Which doesn't make me a total loner. At least I'm better than Henrietta Waller, who's almost never acknowledged by anyone except for her teachers.

It's like I was born not to fit in.

Let me take you back.

Kindergarten and elementary school were fine, really. I could talk to my peers and they wouldn't ignore me. We'd discuss mundane things like what we had for lunch that day. Occasionally, something exciting would pop up like that one time a kid named Billy found a dead frog near the big tree in the yard and told all the boys petting it was the cure for cooties in case they were ever infected by a girl.

I even had a best friend, Sharpay Evans. She had chestnut ringlets, dark brown eyes and her mouth would be constantly moving, mostly complaining about the retainer that was in it.

Since the day we met in grade two, we'd do everything together. If I wanted to read, she'd read as well. If she wanted to have a pretend fashion show, I'd be strutting down an imaginary runway right behind her.

Once, she shared with me a secret that she liked playing with me even more than she liked playing with Ryan, her twin brother.

Her own twin brother.

The boy she had spent almost all her life with.

I was happily surprised and enormously proud.

Maybe that's why on the first day of middle school I felt as if I'd been trampled on by a herd of elephants when she declared she didn't want to be associated with me anymore.

I stepped out of my mother's car that morning to find a very blonde Sharpay Evans surrounded by a group of girls, chattering away like a chipmunk with movie star teeth, which were unmarred by a metal retainer.

I was about to go celebrate the absence of that thing and marvel over her new hair colour when she cast me the dirtiest look I'd ever received. I'm talking dirtier than the bottom of your shoe after trekking through a garbage dump here.

The entire month of August I'd spent with my dad in Kentucky. I had informed her of this beforehand, so she had no reason to be mad for leaving her in Albuquerque, right?

After that heart-crushing moment it was all a blur.

Sharpay continued her silence. The more she distanced herself from me, the more popular she became. Even treated Ryan poorly.

I'd tried befriending others, but it seemed like everyone I talked to already put me in a box and wouldn't give me the time of day.

My self-esteem lowered, and I eventually gave up.

Middle school was only three years. High school was only four. In total, that was maybe eight percent of my life.

The prosperity and happiness I'd have later in life would make up for it. I'm crossing my fingers.

There was a time where Sharpay and I crossed paths in grade six, though. I had this crush on a guy. I can't remember his name now, but I first noticed him while standing in the lunch line. We were the last two, but he was in front of me and suddenly he swivelled around to ask if I wanted the only apple parfait left.

How sweet of him, I thought. Not only that, but his enchanting cyan eyes were like beacons amidst my lonely darkness …

And, well, anyway, so I liked him. Really, really liked him. Followed the guy to his locker once and discovered he had this cute way of yanking it open when it was being too stubborn sometimes.

I basically stalked the poor boy.

I guess I was too obvious because I'm pretty sure the only reason Sharpay started dating him was because of me.

She broke up with him two weeks later.

Made him swear off girls and devote all his time to basketball.

That bitch.

Ahem. Moving on again …

So, yes, I can't talk to people my own age. Only the five year old next door and the old people I meet when I volunteer at the geriatrics unit in the hospital on weekends.

Well, I should be grateful for that at least. Count my blessings and all that.

It's not like I'm stranded on an island alone.

Or like I'm a mute.

Nope, I'm fully capable of speech and living in a lovely city with many lovely people who aren't teenagers.

It's a wonderful life.

* * *

**This is just another something I'm experimenting with, really. It's nothing serious. I want to write without pressure from school and for fun. :) Chapters will be short, though. **


	2. You rest in peace, Evans

**Chapter 2: ****You rest in peace, Evans**

Whenever someone says something that seems so shocking and outrageously absurd, it's almost instinctual to accuse them of tricking you and to walk away in disbelief.

It's like something monumental doesn't just happen while you were sleeping.

If the person who's locker is next to mine turns to me one morning and says, "Man has landed on mars," or, "The cure for cancer has been discovered," or, "The president has been assassinated," I'd definitely doubt them at first.

Similarly, if they were to say, "Sharpay Evans is dead," I'd laugh and tell them that April Fool's Day is a long way off.

So, this morning, my locker neighbour turns to me and says, "Sharpay Evans is dead."

I guess you already know how I reply.

She was very succinct in delivering the news. Yes, very curt. Just "Sharpay Evans is dead" and then she leaves me to take from that what I will.

My hearty chuckle and lame attempt at a joke does nothing to make her want to speak to me ever again. I'm sure of it.

It's not until she leaves and I pause for a moment to let the buzz in the hallway fill my ears, retelling the horrible news like an echo.

"_Did you hear? About yesterday? About Sharpay Evans?"_

"_I can't believe it! Oh, my God, how?"_

"_I can vividly remember her sitting beside me in Government class just hours before!"_

Fuck. I'm heartless. Aren't I?

Who was I to go around last night thinking of her abandoning me and calling her a bitch?

I should have been admiring her exemplary personality traits she demonstrated while we were still friends and blocked out the past few years of my life.

Hope her family's all right.

Come to think of it, I often notice Ryan's head bobbing through the crowd in the mornings because of his colourful hats. Today I haven't. But people aren't talking about him, and I guess that's a good thing because it means he's still here.

Today continues, although some believe the world has stopped turning because a person as eccentric as Sharpay could never leave us.

There was a PA announcement made by our principal, Mr. Matsui, to commemorate Sharpay, which was nice.

They mentioned a book they'd keep in the library where people could go at lunch or during free period to sign as a way of sending the Evans' family their condolences. Which is also nice. Or else Ryan would be bombarded with 'I'm so sorry for your loss's from people he doesn't even know.

I suppose I'll go after school or something.

Also, we were reminded that guidance counsellors are always available and that please do not hesitate to talk to one because they are here to help you!

I learned she's getting a page dedicated for her in the yearbook.

It would've happened even if she were still here, anyway, because Sharpay Evans had many links in the yearbook club. She would have fought for a double-page spread, though.

Look at me. I'm becoming one of those 'this is what they would do if they were still here' type people.

Well, admittedly, I know what I wouldn't do if she were still here: talk to her.

Ah, regrets. Gotta love 'em.

After the final bell rings, the school clears out pretty instantaneously except for a few who like to linger or who have activities like sports or clubs to attend to.

I fit into the former. I walk, so I don't need to catch the bus or anything.

Plus, I still need to sign that book.

I make my way to the library, passing some of the varsity basketball team on the way. Looks like there's a practice.

When I reach my destination, I see that the book is conveniently located right at the front, near the check in desk.

And luckily, Ms. Falstaff isn't present at the moment. I wouldn't want our creepy librarian to breathe down my neck as I'm trying to think of heartfelt words.

The book's already half full, I remark, as I ponder what to write.

I can't help but look at the other comments on the page. For inspiration, that is.

Some general ones that have been repeated are:

"_Our lives were made better because we knew you."_

"_You will always have a special place in our hearts."_

Wait. Who the hell wrote: _"You rest in peace, Evans." _? They didn't even sign their name.

God, those are all horrible. So generic. I want it to look like I actually knew her.

Which I did.

For a while.

Anyway, there are also the sweetest anecdotes and more personal notes in here, too.

A feeling crawls up my spine. Shame. And then panic.

I don't have a clue of what I want to say. I'm looking for something memorable and meaningful.

So I let my heart guide me …

… And it leads me nowhere.

Ugh, I'm never depending on it again.

I settle with "_You could light up a room and your smile reminded me of sunshine. You'll always be a star. - Gabriella Montez"_ and grimace after rereading it.

But it's true. She was popular so everyone grinned when the showed up and she did have those pearly whites. And I'm almost certain she was interested in the drama club. Maybe she even wanted to be an actress, so the star comment fits.

I can't write the honest truth, right? Because then I would say, _"I wish I'd known you better,"_ and everyone would tsk and go, _"Yes, you should have known Sharpay Evans better. What's wrong with you? Who calls a dead girl names?"_

There's no point in regret now.

If anything, I'm supposed to walk away from this promising I'll seize the day and never take life for granted again.

And get to know as many people as I can before they die, too.

With no time to waste, I scamper along home, rushing down the stairs as fast as I can.

I'm just about to pull open the doors when it suddenly swings open by itself, flying in my direction.

Wow, door, I had no idea you were so happy to see me.

It bashes against my forehead. (Yes, that'll do wonders for my IQ.) I'm propelled backwards and my heel slips.

In case you didn't know this, trying to grab hold of thin air does nothing for you.

The cold floor breaks my fall.

And to my horror, I start losing consciousness.

Wait, is that someone calling my name?


	3. Apple Parfait guy

**Chapter 3: ****Apple Parfait guy**

"Gabi? Gabi!"

Someone with a nasally voice is yelling my name.

Wait a minute. I'm upright. Wasn't I supposed to be on the ground?

And there's pavement beneath my feet and dark clouds above my head. It's drizzling, but there are puddles everywhere and I suspect the heavy rain has passed.

Wait another minute. Am I wearing light blue sweat pants with a matching shirt in the same colour with pictures of bouncing bunnies on the front?

Holy shit, I've been transported back to elementary school, and I'm standing in the schoolyard.

My hair, which was much lighter back then, only reaches my collar bone. And there's so much frizz. Right. Because this is _before_ I learned about hair product.

I see the tips of my red socks poking out of the holes in my battered sneakers. I wiggle my toes and the hole rips some more. Oh, how I missed that.

I stop evaluating myself and look up to meet piercing brown eyes.

It's Sharpay Evans, sheltering herself from the tiny raindrops with a monstrous pink umbrella. Except her skin is back to its former pale colour, and her face is framed by a mane of brown curls.

"Gabriella!" she calls again testily. "Aren't you going home? Everyone else has left!"

I finally recognise this.

It was the last day of grade five.

"My mom's not here yet," I find myself informing her automatically.

Yes, my mother had been late, and Sharpay had stayed behind to wait with me.

In a second, Sharpay's going to ask me if I want her personal driver to take me home. Then she'll take it back and propose that I go to her house to hang out.

She thrusts her nose in the air haughtily, leaving me behind with only a "See you later then" and strides over to the other side of the road where her car is waiting.

I follow her, hoping she'll ask me to come.

But she doesn't. And I watch the car drive forward a little, make a U-turn and drive past me, right into a puddle.

I'm showered with murky water, and my bunnies are now drowning in mud.

"Gabriella?"

This time it's a deeper, masculine voice. Not Sharpay's shrill one.

"Are you all right?"

As I pull myself out of my dream and sit up (because I know I wasn't really brought back. Time travel only happens in the movies) I find myself staring into another set of eyes, a clearer blue sky instead of the stormy grey one I was recently looking at.

"Say something," he tells me. And then adds politely, "Please."

It's Apple Parfait guy! He must have been the one who pushed the door open.

After a double take, I realise this person gazing at me concernedly is Troy Bolton, captain of the East High Wildcats basketball team. That title follows him everywhere.

I wonder what the cheerleaders would say if I told them that once upon a time, Troy Bolton, hottie superbum (that title follows him, too,) offered me, Gabriella Montez, a nobody, dessert? For my own amusement, I could add that we were on a tropical beach without cutlery and the sun was sinking into the ocean, sending purple and red streaks shooting across the sky and he put a hibiscus in my hair and …

Oh, he's still waiting for a response from me.

I quickly blurt out, "How d'you know my name?"

Troy answers, "We have classes together and I went to middle school with you."

I have a confused expression, not because I don't remember this, but because he does.

His brow furrows at my silence. "Don't you remember?" And then he starts describing our old school from its ugly-coloured bricks to its dilapidated textbooks and non-functioning drinking fountains.

Of course he has to think I'm suffering from amnesia.

"Troy, yes, I remember. I was only surprised that you d--"

"Maybe you should go to the doctor's. I'm so sorry, Gabriella, for hitting you with the door. It's just that I forgot about practice and had to come back, so I was rushing--"

"I'm fine. It's okay. And it was just an accident," I reassure him.

Troy still looks frazzled. Goodness, I should never have passed out. After this morning's news, I'm sure everyone's a bit on edge.

"You should still get checked out. Head injuries are sometimes more serious than people expect." He's speaking in earnest tones, hoping I heed his advice.

"All right, I will." I suppose I better. Being an athlete, he would know about physical health more than I do.

He smiles, stands up and offers me a hand. Such a gentleman.

I say, "Thanks," and take it. I'm caught off-guard when he effortlessly pulls me up. I thought you were supposed to leave your hand hanging there limply as the person grasps it tries to haul themselves up, and the hand was only a symbol of helpfulness, not actually helpful. That's what always happens to me.

Just as I get to my feet, I see something over Troy's shoulder. It's a thin girl gliding (possibly floating?) across the floor. Wavy blonde hair drapes over her face like a veil. She moans, "Why can't anyone hear me?"

I pale as I notice the figure is translucent, and almost trip over my own feet in shock as she fades away. Completely disappearing. Just like that.

No way.

That was … that was only … the latest technology in invisibility suits? It just had a little malfunction that I caught. Yes, that's it. I'll have to inform the science department. They're probably cooking up something. It's a secret mission from the president. He's requested their aid for military defence. Because that's what he does all day. You know, spy on different high schools throughout the country to find a really smart one to commission to work on projects for him.

"Gabriella?" Troy interrupts my theories before they develop further and become even more utterly senseless. He looks very alarmed now. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Hurriedly, I ask, "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Maybe all the cheering from the crowd during his big games has deafened him. Poor guy.

"Never mind. I should get home--I mean, to the doctor's. And you should be on your way to practice." To distract him further, I add, "When's the Championship game?" But then I remember I shouldn't forget things around him anymore. "Oh, silly me. I shouldn't ask because I already know the date. I'll be there on … " I start to flounder, "um, on… I mean, _in _red and white … cheering the team on … as you guys win … anyway, Go Wildcats!"

He smiles, a thank you for demonstrating school spirit. "How are you getting home?" he questions. "The buses have left."

I forget to think before I speak. "Walking."

Instantly, his disapproval shows. "Walking?"

"Walking!" I repeat brightly. "To the public bus stop?"

He does not seem happy with this either. God, he's insatiable. A bit of a worrywart, too.

He begins, "I could give you a dri--"

Cutting him off, I continue, "The public bus stop where my mom will be because that's where she like to park. For whatever odd reason." I have already inconvenienced him by making him outrageously late for his practice and would just like to get out of his way.

I start walking backwards, away from him and toward the door. "Bye, Troy."

He raises one hand as a farewell sign. "Bye, Gabriella. See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, see you." I smile and leave, Goosebumps still on my arms from his touch and also from what must have been a figment of my imagination.


	4. This is all a horrible prank

**Chapter 4: ****This is all a horrible prank**

The doctor said my bump on the head wasn't much to worry about. That means it probably didn't cause me to hallucinate.

I come half an hour earlier to school to sneak around and try to find whatever I saw yesterday. Call me crazy, but something _was_ there. I'd bet my life on it. Or maybe not my life, because who'd want to take a life, right? Maybe I'd bet my favourite necklace on it instead (worth twenty-five dollars).

I figure I should go visit my locker first to put my book bag away so I don't have to lug it around while I go disappearing-girl-hunting.

My jaw drops when I close my locker and turn around because she's the first thing I see.

And, good heavens, she looks an awful lot like Sharpay Evans.

Except with sunken eyes, a hopeless expression and, of course, that translucent-ness. Which isn't very Sharpay Evans-like, but after blinking a few times, I realise this is undoubtedly her. The pink attire and blonde hair are possibly the only things that remind me of her past self.

"Can you hear me?" she croaks, veins popping out of her neck.

I blink some more, dumbfounded. And trying very hard to breathe.

The only reason why I haven't screamed or fainted yet is because my brain is trying to figure out which one to do first.

"Can you … see me?" see-through Sharpay asks again, curiosity laving over her voice.

My throat's dry. "I … yes … but how? Sharpay?"

"You know me?" She floats closer. Uncomfortably close, as I try to press myself harder against the lockers. A tilted head to the side tells me she's confused, too.

But, honestly, even though my mind is having a little bit of trouble processing what's going on here, I can't help but feel a little hurt she can't remember me.

"Yeah, I do." I gulp. "How are you here? I thought you were, um, well … "

She demands, "Who are you? How do you know me? How are you the only one who can see me? I've been searching forever!"

"Are you a ghost?" I blurt out.

How stupid of me. Of course she's a ghost. Has she died? Check. Is she somehow still here? Yup.

Looks like a supernatural being to me.

She seems taken aback. "A _ghost_?"

"Well, didn't you … "

"Didn't I what?"

"Didn't you die?"

"I'm not dead!" she shrieks. "This is all a horrible prank!" She's sobbing now. "I can't remember anything, and no one knows I exist … "

Then she disappears. Again. Fuck.

"Sharpay?" I yell.

I can see ghosts now? She forgot everything except her own name. Do all ghosts have their memory erased? What do I do with her? Is she haunting me? Am I the only one who can see her? Hm, Troy couldn't.

I knew I should have chosen to watch _Ghost Whisperer_ instead of my reality TV, damn it. I could have learned something useful. Now the only thing reality TV helped me with was choosing _not _to have 17 kids.

"Sharpay?" I yell again, starting to wander down the hall. "Please come back."

No way is this a prank on her. This is probably a prank on me. The whole school's in on it. The whole city's in on it. The obituary was fake. Sharpay's hired those special effects people. She got Troy Bolton to knock me to the ground on purpose to distract me and set everything up. She knew what happened with him when we were younger.

So I give up looking for Sharpay and start the search for hidden cameras, keeping my ear out for a snicker coming from someone who's working on the prank, too.

Yes, I think this is my best theory yet.

"I know you're out there, Sharpay," I chuckle. "I know this is all a--"

"Gabriella?"

I whirl around. It's Troy Bolton looking quite perturbed. I commend his expression, as it looks very real. Kid could be an actor someday.

I grin. "Troy, I also know you're part of it, too--"

He doesn't hear me. "Were you just talking to Sharpay? As in Sharpay Evans?"

His eyes shift, and I notice he's staring at the bruise on my forehead.

Wait. There's a possibility that there is no prank. And I'm just crazy.

But he can't know that.

"Um, no." I rock back and forth on my feet, my fingers linked behind my back. "I was talking to my Sharpie. Calling out to it, actually. I've lost it."

"A Sharpie? That's a … pen."

"Yes, a pen. I happen to love pens, and I talk to all my inanimate objects, didn't you know?" I titter lightly. "So, I should continue my search now." I motion to the direction opposite the one he came in.

Troy looks just as eager to part ways. But, like the gentleman he is, he asks (albeit hesitantly),"Let me know if I can help?"

"I'll probably be fine, but thanks anyway."

Well, shit, that was a sucky second (third?) conversation. Not the best way to woo a boy (not like I consider myself in Troy Bolton's league). But I have bigger things to worry about.

* * *

I hear her before seeing her.

She's screeching into Mrs. Falstaff's ear and flouncing around in front of her, but the librarian, as sensitive as she is to loud noises, doesn't seem bothered at all.

Desperation doesn't suit Sharpay. I kind of feel sorry for her. For this and the whole dying thing.

Mrs. Falstaff leaves, off to do her own business, and that's when Sharpay spins around to see me, blonde hair flying as her eyes narrow.

"You again. Who are you, anyway? Why are you the only one who can see me?"

I grip the ends of my sleeves nervously. "I'm Gabriella Montez. And I don't know why I can see you. The first time I did was yesterday, but you left before I could say anything." Maybe hitting my head gave me these abilities?

She glides closer until she's directly in front of me. "So how do you know me?"

"I … I've seen you around. You're pretty popular. Known you since elementary school. Do you really not remember anything?"

She sniffs. "Not much. But it's coming back bit by bit. I remember who I am, that I went to this school and my family." Her voice lowers. "But even my they can't see me either."

"Oh, I'm sorry." I must be the worst of the worst at consoling people. "Do you remember how you … "

"Died?"

Well, she's finally accepted it. That's a good thing. "Um, yeah."

She shakes her head. "Do you know?"

"Well, your obituary said you were in a car accident. There was a storm the night you … "

"Died." She says this with melancholy and a far away gaze.

I don't know what to say, but luckily, she snaps out of it. "Did you know people can't hear or see me, but they can feel me?"

"What do you mean?"

Without warning, she charges right through me. I'm not at all surprised she's not solid, but it's as if Antarctica's just paid me a visit. She's frigid.

I shiver. "Holy shit, Sharpay."

She reappears in front of me, frowning. "Yes, my mother didn't respond too well to that either when I tried to embrace her." She sighs.

Then I hear a bus pull up. Students will start swarming the halls any minute now. They can't see me talking to myself!

"Hey, I can help you," I say quickly.

"Help me what?"

"With anything. Remembering your life, your family, getting out of this state." Someone's left her in my hands, so I guess I should be the one to help her 'move on'. Whatever that takes. I still feel guilty for those feelings of hatred towards a dead person.

"Really, Gabriella?" Her mouth relaxes into a smile.

I beam back at her willingness to accept my aid. "Yes, really. Only I'll have to talk to you later because other people are going to get suspicious if they see me conversing with thin air."

"Right. Okay." She's excited now. "I'll visit you when you're alone!"

With that, she fades away.


	5. Antidisestablishmentarianism

**Chapter 5: Antidisestablishmentarianism**

True to her word, Sharpay pops out again when the hallways are once again emptied at the end of the school day.

"Gabriella!" she chimes brightly.

"How do you do that?" I ask, suddenly curious. "Disappear or reappear at the snap of a finger?"

She shrugs. "I just think of wherever I want to be. My thoughts drifted a lot before, so that's how I came upon this ability."

"Can you transport yourself anywhere you want to be in the world?" You'd think she'd be in Paris or Milan or something, not with little old me.

She looks down, and if she could, I bet she'd be blushing. "Only the places I remember, the places I visited when I was alive. The stronger memories are easier to get to. Except for you, of course. I found myself with you a lot today even though I felt like I just met you this morning."

"Oh, that's interesting. Wait--you were with me when I was in class?"

She nods and smiles. "Yes, I wanted to know more about you. You don't seem to talk to people much … mostly teachers."

Great. Now even the ghost knows I have no friends. But she must have seen me talking to Taylor McKessie (I had to ask her about the homework) and the important thing here, is that Taylor McKessie actually replied. I'm not that pathetic.

"Are you sure we weren't best friends or anything?" Sharpay breathes hastily, like she's been holding it in for quite some time and just decided to let it out.

"No, we barely knew each other," I mumble. This is only a partial lie. I didn't know who the new Sharpay was at all.

"Oh." She sounds disappointed. I can imagine her frustration at her lack of answers.

"So we've got to figure this out." Uncertainly, I gesture to all of her. "This ghost thing."

"Right," she agrees. "I don't know why I'm still here … "

Impulsively, I say, "Maybe it's your family, since they're one of the few things you do recall. I don't know … is it a twin connection thing? Maybe you can't leave Ryan yet. Maybe he's the reason you're being held back?"

"Maybe. But he should be able to see me, too. But he can't."

"Should he know about this?"

She furrows her brow. "I don't know how he would react. Maybe not. It's not the right time, anyway. It's too soon."

I try to lighten the mood. "I don't think he'd believe me either. I'd probably sound delusional."

"Wait," she says suddenly, looking over my shoulder. "There's someone behind the corner."

I spin around and fast as I can. Shit, I should have taken her to my house so we could talk privately. My heart races as both Sharpay and I round the corner.

I almost kick myself in the head. It's Troy. I don't know if it's just me or if he's really trembling.

Is this boy stalking me or something?

Why does he keep appearing at the worst of times!

"Troy?" I start. "How long have you been here?"

He scratches the back of his neck. "For a while," he admits.

"How much did you hear?" I dread his answer. Sharpay's silent beside me and he doesn't acknowledge her, so I assume she is invisible to him, too.

"Quite a bit. I … " He swallows, and then whips out a black Sharpie from his pocket. " … found this, and since you were looking for one, I was wondering if it was yours. So I went to go find you, but I heard you talking to someone. I thought you were on the phone at first, so I waited. But I caught a glimpse of you, and you weren't. What you were saying, it … "

"Sounded odd?" I finish, already trying to come up with an excuse. I shoot a nervous glance at Sharpay, hoping she'll help me out, but she's giving me the same look. "Look, Troy, I can explain."

"I heard you saying 'ghost'. And talking about Ryan's twin? Sharpay? Gabriella … do you think you can talk to the dead?"

I falter, "I--well--it's complicated."

"This isn't yours, is it?" He waves the pen in the air a little. "You never lost one."

"What's with the Sharpie?" whispers Sharpay, even though he can't hear her. "Who is he?"

"You can have it, if you want." He holds it out so I can grab it. He still is the sweetest. Any other guy might have offered to write 'INSANE' on my forehead for me.

I'm unsure of what to do next, so I take it.

Troy turns to leave, and my heart starts pounding again. Screw my reputation. He knows too much already. Plus, he's the best thing that's happened to me in forever, and I can't let him go without a fight. "Wait! Troy, I don't _think_ I can talk to the dead, I actually can. Sharpay's ghost is right here!"

Immediately after I let the words go, regret makes my insides clench.

Honesty, kids, is a staple friend-icide.

"Gabriella!" Sharpay exclaims, horrified at my outburst. "Why did you tell him?"

While he's staring at me, I try to explain it to her. "Because I don't think I can do this alone. Maybe he can help us."

"_What?" _Troy frowns. He says something about guidance counsellors, but the blood is rushing too fast in my ears for me to hear everything.

"It's true, Troy!" I rush over to him to grab his (very well defined) arm, and before he can tug it out of my grasp, I swipe it through Sharpay.

They both gasp, Sharpay in indignation and Troy in surprise.

I release his arm. "Did you feel that? The coldness? It was her!"

I don't think he knows what to make of it. "That was weird" he stutters. "How'd you do that?"

"It wasn't me. It was Sharpay, or, rather, her ghost. I'm the only one who can see or hear her, though."

"Gabriella," Sharpay huffs, daintily brushing herself off, "perhaps he can help us, but I don't see why he would or why you had to do that."

"I can prove it further!" I tell him, and hand him back the Sharpie. I dig in my bag for a piece of paper and give that to him as well. "Write something. I won't look, but Sharpay will and she'll tell me what it is."

Troy shrugs, does a 180 and I see him scribbling something. Sharpay stands in front of him, watching intently. "Antidisestablishmentarianism," she says.

"Antidisestablishmentarianism," I repeat.

He swivels around, eyebrows raised. "Lucky guess. Let me try another."

"Go ahead. You can even draw a picture, or we could play a game of hangman."

We do this a few times until Sharpay starts getting annoyed and I ask him if he's satisfied with our 'proof.' I tell him everything I've learned about her so far, and he seems to be accepting this pretty well.

Hopefully he isn't just playing along and is secretly planning to drag me to get a lobotomy.

"Wow," he says finally. He surveys the hall. "Sharpay?"

"Sharpay, this is Troy Bolton," I introduce her to him.

She studies him for a moment. "Hello, Troy," she says coolly.

"She says 'hello'," I tell him. I also ask him to clear his mind and squint really, really carefully in case he's overlooking Sharpay, but that results in nothing.

I wish I wasn't the only one in this and resist the urge to conk him on the head to see what happens.

Sharpay, on a whim, grips the bottom of her shirt. "What if he's lying? I'll flash him. No boy can hold back a reaction to that." She grins.

"Sharpay, no!" I exclaim.

"What? What is it?" Troy asks nervously.

"Nothing." I flush.

Sharpay shrugs her shoulders, and we move on from that. After Troy and Sharpay exchange a few words through me, Troy says he has to go home and I invite Sharpay over to my house. Perhaps this will spark some recognition?


	6. Do you have any unfinished business?

**Chapter 6: ****Do you have any unfinished business?**

I take Sharpay back to my house, but, alas, it's just another strange place for her.

"Who else lives here?" She wanders into the kitchen, floats through the wall, and then inspects the dining room.

"Just me, my mom and my hamster." I lay my bag down with a thump and motion for her to come up to my room.

Sharpay takes a moment to regard her reflection in my full-length mirror, twirling translucent strands of thin, angel hair. I remark that when the light streaming through my window a certain way, she seems to glow, looking ethereal.

"I can see myself," she says, a little stunned, and fluffs her blonde waves.

"I thought it was vampires with no reflections. Ghosts have been photographed before." I perch myself on the end of my bed. This gets me thinking about other things that I once thought were nonexistent. Ghosts, I now know, are real. Are mermaids, too? And Edward Cullens? I could _so_ be a Bella.

She muses, "Hmm, true."

If she were any other guest, I'd offer her a drink or a snack. I'm not sure how to be hospitable towards a ghost.

Sharpay continues to groom herself. I'm not sure who she's trying to impress. "That boy, Troy, is he your friend?"

"No."

She seems to understand. "Ah--boyfriend?"

Guess not. "Good heavens, no, Sharpay."

"Then why'd you pick him to blab everything to? He must be the smartest student in school who knows everything supernatural."

"Not exactly. He's more of a jock. I had to tell him because he'd heard too much. He'd even heard me calling your name earlier today. He'd get suspicious."

Sharpay isn't satisfied. "So he's someone you like then."

I blush, giving myself away. "Why do you have to do this?"

"Humour me, Gabriella. I'm a ghost who can only talk to a girl with no social life. I must have done something horrible when I was alive to deserve this."

I want to giggle (but I don't because I feel bad for her misfortune). She's sounding more like her old self now. It's a good thing, right?

"I can't like him. It'd only be one-sided and doomed from the beginning."

"Why? He listened to you talk about ghosts like a crazy person. Who else would do that? You can't seriously be that picky."

"I'm telling you, I'd just be setting myself up for disappointment."

"How? It can't be that hard to charm a guy. This one seems interested in you already. Start with some banter and before you know it, he'll ask you on a date."

"I can't banter. I can't even talk to anyone without them getting bored. I'm not funny or witty and I'm horrible at choosing good conversation topics." Homework seems to be my favourite.

"Surely no one can have as little self-esteem as you do."

"_I'm_ happy with who I am." I match her prim tone, straightening my back. "It's just that no one else is."

She raises her eyebrows. "All right."

"So," I begin, changing the topic. "Back to you. I, uh, assume you'd like to … move on?"

"Yes." She comes over to sit beside me on my bed. "I don't know why I'm here, and the world has nothing to offer me anymore."

Wow, she's accepted death really quickly. "Do you have any unfinished business? Regrets?"

"I only have a fraction of my memory, I've told you."

"So let's work on regaining it for now." I walk over to my closet, pull out an almost tattered cardboard box and start digging around until I find my yearbook from last year. Its hard, red cover gleams in the ambient light.

"Here we are," I say showing it to her. "It's a look back into last year to hopefully jog your memory." I flip the pages. "You've been in quite a few school productions. Musicals, plays, talent shows."

"I know. I have lots of trophies in my room," she sighs because this is nothing new.

We go through the whole darn thing and end up with nothing. I've pointed out some girls who I think were her friends (although her posse was quite large, so I couldn't have gotten all of them), some significant school events and her other achievements (she was voted Best Hair and Most Likely to Win an Oscar). She's pointed out how her hair could've been better in her main photo, and how I only have one picture in the entire yearbook.

As soon as I close it, I hear Boxer rustling around in his cage. I bound over to open it and grab the dark grey ball of fuzz, cupping him in my hands.

Sharpay shrieks, retreating to the opposite corner of my room. "What _is _that thing? Why do you have a mouse in your room?" She's horrified.

I shoot her an unimpressed look while trying to keep Boxer from squirming out of my grip. "It's a hamster, Sharpay."

"So? Just put it back!" As her voice climbs higher, the more banshee like she becomes.

"Calm down! There's no way he can hurt you. I just want to try something." I inch closer to her slowly like I would approach a frightened animal. She could leave in the blink of an eye.

I explain, "Haven't you ever heard that animals have some sort of sixth-sense or supernatural detector thing? What if Boxer knows you're here?"

"Whoopee," she says sarcastically, "so I now have a hamster to keep me company along with the socially-inept."

She pouts and crosses her arms. "And who names their hamster Boxer?"

I stop in front of her and let him sniff the air. I'm not sure what to expect or what I want to get out of this. Is it to keep convincing myself I'm not crazy?

I sigh as nothing happens (even when Sharpay reluctantly waves a hand in front of him) and plop him back in the cage.

"Maybe I need to find a dog or something," I tell her.

"Yes, your hamster is much too pea-brained to be smart enough to notice me." She shrugs as if to say 'I told you so'. Then she sighs and admits, "But Boi didn't."

"Boi?"

"My dog," she states. "I saw him when I visited my house. He seems very depressed, won't even eat his favourite dog treats … "

Hmm, well if animals' senses aren't heightened enough … I wonder …

* * *

"Gabi, it's cold," Mollie whines.

I'm over at her house, babysitting for the night. And, of course, I brought Sharpay with me. Maybe I was expecting Mollie to morph into Haley Joel Osment or something, but she can't see Sharpay either.

"Gabriella, just give it up," sighs Sharpay. "Why are you so intent on proving I'm here? You didn't make me up. You aren't going crazy. How did you manage to convince Troy I exist if you don't even believe it?"

I send Mollie off to go watch television, and turn to Sharpay. "I don't know. It's so unreal, kind of a shock."

"I'm not having the best time accepting this either," she reminds me.

Man, but I thought this would be easy. Like she'd just say, "Go fetch my most prized trophy and lay it near my grave. Then I will be at peace and leave you alone." We spent the whole afternoon and evening figuring out what our next move would be.

But there's nothing to do but follow through with my promise.


	7. I'm so lonely and dead

**Chapter 7: I'm so lonely and dead**

I'm very disoriented in the mornings. I'm also paranoid in the dark, so I always lock my door.

I wake up and I can barely remember what day of the week it is let alone my new ghost friend. When I catch a glimpse of something wandering around my bedroom, I feel a rush of fear and squeak loudly, throwing the covers off as I sit up.

"Good morning," Sharpay drones, obviously annoyed. "Too bad you wasted a lot of it sleeping."

Wiping my mouth, I glance at the digital clock on my night stand. "It's seven."

She thrusts her aristocratic nose in the air. "I would wake up at six."

"You would? Do you sleep now? How do you know?"

"No, I don't sleep now, but I visited my house again and everyone wakes up at six, so I assume I would have, as well," concludes Sharpay.

"I don't need the extra hour, so why not sleep?" I roll off my mattress and start making my bed. "What did you do last night?"

Please don't say you were hanging out here, I mentally beseech her.

"I had already explored my house, so I wandered around yours." Then she adds as an afterthought, "Didn't take me as long."

"Sharpay!" I exclaim indignantly.

"What? Do you have anything to hide?" she asks with nonchalance.

"No, but it's just … odd. Having a stranger see everything."

"I'm a ghost," Sharpay snaps. "I can't tell anyone anything, and I don't plan on sticking around much longer."

I let my shoulders drop. Well, she wouldn't have had much to do. It's not like she could have flipped through the diary I kept in middle school, anyway.

The sound of my mother's footsteps penetrate my thin door. Sharpay notices her, too, and we both remain silent.

"Gabi?" she calls inquisitively and knocks. "Wake up. It's seven. Don't be late for school. I'm leaving for work now, okay?"

"I'm up," I reply, reaching for the doorknob while Sharpay drifts out of sight. "Bye, mom."

She smiles, deepening the wrinkles near her eyes. "Bye, Gabi, have a good day."

"You, too," I return as she turns away to walk down the hall toward the stairs.

When she's gone, I shout, "Sharpay?"

She appears in front of me. "I went to have a look in your closet … " She trails off, and then shivers.

I frown. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that if you want to have a chance with that Troy guy, you better hope I'm around long enough to help you because you definitely need it."

* * *

Sharpay doesn't follow me around the whole day. She is starting to seem more and more like her old self, who would strongly disapprove of my schedule.

She chooses not to join me in my Chemistry class and listen to the teacher lecture us, but instead sits in on Ms. Darbus' drama class. Apparently, the freshmen class is extremely pathetic but the senior students in the Advanced Drama class after have some spectacular talent.

It's like she constantly has to be talking. She drops into my history class to tell me how goofy these guys were, but I discretely shush her, which makes her go all, "Fine, if you don't like to be entertained, I'll let you continue living your boring life," and she leaves.

I hope she takes time to calm down because in Calculus, the teacher, Mr. Wilson, hands out ten-page booklets and calls this monstrosity a pop quiz.

In horror, I flip through it quickly before starting. I don't recognise half of it.

My hand shakes as I pen my name and read the first question.

Around the third page, Sharpay pops in. _Shit._

"Gabriella!" she exclaims. "Is there any way you can switch into this drama class?"

I ignore her, expecting her to notice the seriousness of the situation. The room is silent, except for the scratching of graphite on paper.

Mr. Wilson, though, is on his computer. The screen is turned away from us, but everyone knows he is going online shopping for man-scarves.

"Are you listening to me?" she asks impatiently.

Without looking up, I shake my head and gesture to the booklet and for extra emphasis, I circle 'Pop Quiz' on the top of the page.

"I'm so lonely," she moans, "and dead. The least you could do is show a little compassion."

I pretend to not hear her and start punching numbers into my calculator, which I thankfully didn't forget today.

Frustrated, she groans. But I'm not prepared for her to cover my sheet and calculator with each of her splayed hands.

Sure, she's a little translucent and I can go through her, (although not without freezing) but the numbers are blurry because Mr. Wilson has a bizarre penchant for small fonts (to be able to fit more on the page, probably).

I move the paper, but she stands in the middle of my desk so it cuts her in half and her body is covering it completely. I can't move it on to my lap because it would look too suspicious to the teacher. If I hold it upright, the guy behind me's going to copy my answers.

I'm about to pull my hair out. I attempt to swat her out of the way, but I am unsuccessful.

"This," she says, "is how I feel. I can't do anything I want to do."

I do feel for her. I do, I do. The girl's dead. I'd like to help her, but just not right now.

Panic mounting, I stare pleadingly into her eyes.

I can't scream at her to go away, or make any noise. Mr. Wilson would assume I'm cheating and give me a 0 on the quiz.

Sharpay only opens her mouth to begin blabbing on about something, knowing I have not choice but to listen.

Taylor McKessie, who sits beside me, lifts her head for a brief moment to glance my way. She gives me a pitying look when she sees my unmoving hand and furious face before resuming her work. I see she only has three pages _left_.

Finally, I take the pencil and start writing on the blank side of the page in huge letters. She peers at her torso curiously and gasps when she reads my message:

**SHUT THE FUCK UP. **

She glares witheringly at me and in an instant, she's gone.

I sigh contentedly, satisfied for now. I'll make up with her later.

I'm so focused on finishing, that after she leaves I'm in auto-pilot, not thinking about anything other than math.

I manage to complete the quiz on time (but unfortunately didn't get to double check it) and relax in my seat after Mr. Wilson picks it up.

Then it slaps me in the face like a thick slice of cold bologna. The tips of my fingers and toes go numb.

I forgot to erase the message. A string of curses run through my mind.

Good Lord, please let the meanest teacher at East High have mercy on me.

"Mr. Wilson!" My hand flies up so fast my shoulder almost pops out of its socket. I practically jump out of my seat. "Mr. Wilson, I forgot something. I--please--let me fix it. I'll be quick, I promise. Just one minor thing. I won't do it again. Just one. Please, please … " I think I repeat the word 'please' twenty-seven times.

He's cross and turning red, not believing I would act so immaturely. "You know the rules, Miss Montez. I never allow any student special treatment," he huffs, turning away.

"But--"

"If you say anything more, I will rip up your quiz."

Oh, please do.

Arg, I want to cry.

"I understand," starts Taylor calmly, looking concerned. "I have moments like that, too. And you just think to yourself, "Why did I choose an answer that was so obviously wrong?""

I stare at her. This is far worse that she could imagine. I'd rather rip the page out, losing marks for everything on there, than let him see those four underlined words.

I know it's beyond my control now. I want to talk to Taylor, make an intellectual friend, but I'm too stunned to reply. I lose my chance when she packs her bag and walks through the doorway.

Glumly, I, too, join the students out in the hall making there way to the cafeteria, seeing as it's lunch now. But I'm not paying attention and I bump into one of them.

After I apologise, I see that it's Troy.

"Oh, hey, I was looking for you." He grins genuinely, a 'hi-how-was-your-day-I-missed-you' grin that I would love to see after coming home from a long shift at work … damn it, I have to learn how to control my thoughts.

"Hi, Troy," I say mechanically.

He furrows his brow at my demeanour. "Are you okay? Where's--." He looks around.

"She's not here."

"Oh." Troy nods curtly in understanding.

"No!" I yelp. "She's not with me, but still in the school somewhere."

He chuckles. "I see. How's everything going?"

"We can't talk about it here," I state matter-of-factly.

"I know where we could go."

And then he takes my hand to lead me away from the crowd, the warm sensation returning feeling to my fingertips and momentarily pulling me out of my worry.


	8. Don't leave yet

**Chapter 8: "Don't leave yet"**

Damn, this dude has the school wired.

I'm brought to this magnificent garden up on the school rooftop with spectacular mountain views, and wind up saying something cheesy like "It's a jungle up here."

And Troy says something about being best buddies with the gardening club.

I walk up the steps to sniff a few different flower types that I can't name.

"So, what's up?" Troy questions. "You seemed a bit off."

I take a seat on the bench and draw my knees up to my chest. "I just upset Mr. Wilson and Sharpay with one stupid note I wrote impulsively." Then I begin rambling, about my Calculus class and everything else that happened with Sharpay.

After the whole explanation, Troy comes and plops himself down next to me, stretching out his legs. "Wow, that sucks. But you're a good student, aren't you? He won't be too harsh, I bet. Just tell him what happened, but instead of Sharpay, say it was some annoying student who was disrupting you.

"And speaking of Sharpay, she'll come around. You're the only one who can see her, anyway."

He gives me this adorable lopsided smile that I wish I could sell because I'd make a fortune and never have to worry about calculus again.

At my silence, he says, "Okay, I know. I give crappy advice, but I do have this." He unzips his backpack and pulls out a chocolate chip cookie wrapped in plastic film and hands me it. "Zeke's the best baker I know."

"Ooh, comfort food." I accept the treat, but I don't eat it yet because the butterflies in my stomach wouldn't like that. "Knew I kept you around for a reason, Bolton."

Troy narrows his eyes. "If you're only looking for cookies, go befriend Zeke then."

I take my feet off the bench, as if I'm going to stand up. "Actually, your advice isn't bad. See you."

"Wait." He puts a hand lightly on my arm to stop me and straightens up. "Don't leave yet."

I roll my eyes. "All right, all right, your highness."

"What?"

Giggling, I say, "You're East High royalty, aren't you? Being the basketball captain who's probably going to lead the team to back to back championships, I figure everyone wants to please you and be your friend."

Troy takes in my words. "I don't want to keep you here if you don't want to be here."

"No," I say hastily. "I want to."

He beams. "Good."

"Do you?"

"Yeah, of course, why wouldn't I want to be here? You're good company."

Is he doing that thing? That fake thing that people who have status do to make them not seem like a snob. They pretend to be caring, but it's all an act.

"Don't you have better company elsewhere?" I look down toward the floor, which is actually the roof, intending to gesture to the people bustling around in the cafeteria below, specifically his basketball buddies at their elite table.

"Nah, I'm with them everyday. Maybe I want a break from all the game discussion." He shrugs and leans back.

I unwrap the plastic from my cookie, break it in half, and hand him one of the pieces. "Feeling pressured?"

"Thanks, Montez." He takes it, giving me that grin again. "And maybe a little." His half is devoured in two seconds.

I take a timid bite and swallow. "You really shouldn't worry. The team's undoubtedly ready, or so I've heard."

"Usually, the nerves help a bit, but I wish the game didn't have to be brought up every other minute."

"Oh!" Realization dawns on me. I'm not even on the team and I'm harassing him about it. "Sorry. So, um, the weather's nice, isn't it?"

Troy chuckles, his azure eyes twinkling. "It's okay. Talking with you about it isn't as bad. Don't forget that I brought it up, too."

I smile back and pathetically nibble some more on my cookie. Stupid butterflies.

"Are you still coming?" he asks suddenly.

"To the game? Yeah, sure. Or else for the week after all the buzz in the hallway will make no sense."

"Oh, so you're going for your own personal benefit." He looks away, nodding and feigning hurt. "Not to support a friend or anything."

"I have a friend on the basketball team?" I throw the question out there, heart racing.

"Yeah, me." He faces me again, an amused expression evident. "You sure are slow. Hopefully you didn't do too bad on that quiz."

I want to explode in joy. Someone's acknowledged me as a friend! It's Troy Bolton, my crush, no less! Wait, did I just say 'my crush?' Whoa, there, Gabriella. You've only recently reached friend, no need to get too excited.

Uncertain how to handle this, I ask dumbly, "You're sure you're not just hanging out with me for amusement? The crazy girl who believes in ghosts?"

"No, of course not. Why would I do that? I like talking with you because you're genuine, and I can just be myself around you. And I believe in ghosts, too, now. Are you calling me crazy?"

I smile. "We'll be insane together."

God, his gaze is intense. "Deal."

Sighing, I twiddle my thumbs. "But I need to find one specific ghost and apologize."

"It wasn't entirely your fault. You two girls just let your emotions get the best of you for a bit. She'll cool down and come back."

"Yeah," I mumble. But what if she's regained her memory already? She won't return then, not after realizing she dosen't actually like me. So how does that work? I'm counting her being able to remember for me to help her, but if she does remember, she won't want anything from me.


	9. That's all I need

**Chapter 9: That's all I need**

Sharpay could be anywhere! The school day's over and she still hasn't popped up yet. I trudge along home and consider that she might be at hers. After all, I would miss my family, too, if I were dead.

I suppose I shouldn't be worried if she's with them.

Troy even said he'd … help. After any rush of cold air he feels, he told me he'd yell out, 'Sharpay, Gabriella's looking for you!' Now that's friendship. He'd ruin his public image for me.

I pen a note on to my calendar to remind me when the game is. It'll be my first time showing interest in the sport, but I'll learn as I watch. Hopefully. It cannot be very hard to blend in with all the basketball fanatics. Clap and scream when they clap and scream, and I'm all set. If the person beside me asks, "Number fourteen's good, huh?" I'll reply, "Oh, yes, very good." Because he is. He's great.

I'm falling without checking to see if there's anyone to catch me first.

My mother comes home early today, lugging in four bags of groceries. She's using the reusable ones I bought for her, so I smile while relieving her of the weight.

I set the bags on the kitchen counter and start unpacking them. Opening the refrigerator, I unconsciously shiver and frown again.

"How was school today, Gabi?" my mother questions, taking out a loaf of bread from one of the bags.

"It was fine as usual." Yeah … I don't want to go to therapy or to a hypnotist so I'm going to keep mum about Sharpay for now.

"How's your new friend doing?"

The carton of eggs I'm holding almost crashes to the tiled floor. She can see Sharpay, too? When did this happen? Does she know she's a ghost? This ghost-seeing-ability must run in the family. Oh, my goodness. I must check first, though. "W-What new friend?"

"Oh." She pauses in thought. "I just assumed … you've been on the phone in your room an awful lot lately, considering you rarely use it."

My heartbeat and breathing regulate. "That was … my partner for this project. We're not really friends."

Her shoulders slump slightly. Yes, she's aware of how … independent I am.

"Gabi," she starts but I already don't like where this is going. It's her suggestion voice. And she's my mother but sometimes her advice doesn't help at all. "It's your last year of high school. Have you ever thought about doing any extra curricular activities?"

Wait for it. She's going to list the examples now.

"Like student council, or the scholastic decathlon, or a sport … "

"It's a bit late, I think."

"I'm sure not all the teams and clubs are over. In fact, some are starting soon." Her voice goes all chirpy and excited. "Why, I was talking to one of my coworkers and she has a daughter that goes to your school. She just went out and bought equipment so she could join the rugby team! There's try-outs next week. I hear everyone has a good chance of making it, since not too many people are interested."

I often end up joining something after these talks. I just feel so guilty, and she is right. Last year it was the reading club. The year before that is was the knitting club. Even the chess club didn't want me.

"I'm happy living the way I am."

I think my mom has an irrational fear of cats. That's why she doesn't want me growing old alone and collecting them.

Well, perhaps I'll change it up a bit and have twenty-eight dogs. Ooh, but not the big ones. Perhaps twenty-eight hamsters, then. Twenty-seven more to go.

"Are you thinking of going to prom?"

If those eggs were still in my hands, they'd be goners. No way would I be caught at prom date-less and friend-less and by myself in the corner. I scoff, "Mom, tickets are $75. Plus, I'd have to buy a dress. I don't really want to go."

"But trust me, Gabi. Prom is a great way to end off your senior year. I'll help with the cost. Don't you have babysitting money, too?"

Man, she's relentless. "Yeah, I get that it can be a really nice princess moment, but I'd be putting more into it than getting stuff out if it."

My mom chuckles. "You're over-thinking it. It's only Prom. Just let loose and have fun and it will go great."

She tilts her head slightly to the side, and in that I'm-a-single-mother-looking-out-for-my-only-daughter tone, she says, "You don't have to spend every moment holed up here."

I shake my head. "That's all I need."

"You could have more."

"It's okay," I reassure her. "I don't want it." I can't have it. I don't deserve it.

I squeeze the colourful toothpaste on to my electric toothbrush and everywhere else when Sharpay's reappearance scares the hell out of me.

I do a double take of her reflection in the mirror and wash the excess toothpaste off my hand in the sink before wheeling around. "Sharpay!" I exclaim. "You're back!"

"Uh-huh," she says tensely, crossing her arms, "and I'm waiting for an apology."

Tired, I sigh softly, "Sorry, Sharpay. I didn't mean to be rude before." I meet her gaze expectantly. "And I forgot to erase the note, you know, before handing it in. I got what I deserved. Mr. Wilson's probably going to fail me."

She gives in and rolls her eyes. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have bugged you, and I may have gone a little too far."

I offer her a small smile, proud of the way she also owned up to her mistake and glad that we can see where each other's coming from.

"Where'd you go?" I lean back on the counter, waiting to hear her story.

She purses her lips. "I just needed some time to myself."

I nod in understanding. Have only one person to talk to can be irritating sometimes. Especially if it's me.

"So I went to different places because they seem more familiar now," she continues. "I went to the mall, to the cinema … saw that new Shia Laboeuf movie." Sharpay grins widely, her eyes lighting up. "Yum."

I laugh. Now there's a perk to being a ghost. All the free movies you want. I'm glad she enjoyed herself at least.

"I saw some cute things at the mall," she says conversationally. "Obviously I wasn't thinking of them for me, but a certain Troy Bolton might appreciate you in them." She shrugs nonchalantly.

I brighten. She was thinking of me? "How does a ghost play matchmaker? Troy and I are fine as friends, Sharpay."

She ignores me, pretending to be transfixed by the brown textured wallpaper.

I go back to my personal hygiene, brushing my teeth thoroughly.

"What if that's my unfinished business?" she pipes up. "To get help you out because you're lonely? That's why I was sent to you. Because I was popular, right? You showed me all my friends in the yearbook."

I consider this as I floss. "We'll see how it works out. But for now, I'm tired. Good night, Sharpay."

She smiles. "Good night, Gabriella."


End file.
